


Yours

by Ro_Nordmann



Series: Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP | JB Style [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brienne represents Tarth, F/M, Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP, Jaime rules over the Westerlands, Post-Season 8 Canon Divergence, Royal AU + Travel AU, Tumblr Prompt, both are traveling towards a council meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 15:30:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21278975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ro_Nordmann/pseuds/Ro_Nordmann
Summary: slytherinoftarth said: 2,10? 💚from Fanfiction Trope MASH-UPJaime Lannister survived the war of the Two Queens and ended up right where he didn't want. Responsible for the Westerlands, alone and full of regrets. A raven announcing a regents' council meeting may reunite him with a certain lady knight that holds his heart and maybe the future the both deserve after war and peace, thrones overthrown and life has given another chance to meet again.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP | JB Style [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1531334
Comments: 12
Kudos: 62





	Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maybeaslytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeaslytherin/gifts).

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

_ **Yours** _  


* * *

It had been six moons since the last meeting had taken place. The same one that had designated the Kingdom’s Regents of Westeros. King Jon I, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms had not accepted with generosity the idea of reigning over so vast territories, not after years of war had ravaged it and left the smallfolk bitter and disillusioned in their wardens, much more with the one who’d wear the crown.

So with no compunction, the bastard of the North had written a long message to be read to every region, town and head of house, that no longer where they answer to the one who sat in the iron throne that was no more. The king’s position was one of traditions and not truly functional in representing every aspect and necessity of the common people. The highborn would now serve for the good of all citizens of Westeros. Jaime had to admit it was a great idea...one that surely had come out of his brother’s brilliant mind, and current Hand of the King, main advisor and moderator of the regents’ council. 

The waves hit the rocks, and he could smell the salt in the air, all the sounds and scents of his childhood. It should be a comfort to his beatendown soul, but he still ached. He tried to convince himself it was his amputated half missing, his soulmate taken by the Queens’ war in King’s Landing almost two years ago. It would be a lie, for what he yearned wasn’t green eyes so like his, that he could look at in the looking glass. No, Cersei Lannister was not what the Lord of the Rock needed or wanted in his life these days.

His hand rubbed the grit from his eyes and pushed the ravens he’d received off his desk, letting them scatter all over the floor. Not one was from the only person he wanted news from. They had survived the Long Night. She had conquered the dead, arisen like the knight she was always meant to be. And he had to soil it with his lust and his need to take what wasn’t his to touch. Only Ser Brienne of Tarth hadn’t stopped him that night...or the ones that followed. If he was being honest, after living in secret for so long, being able to hold her hand and for her to smile at him in plain sight had truly made feel alive.

And yet...Jaime Lannister had thrown it all away for one moment in his sister’s arms right before she died under the rubble of mortar and bricks. His survival was still a mystery, even to him. He had given up pestering Tyrion over giving him the truth, for which he answered, “All men must die. And now you must serve.” 

Peck came into his chambers and saw the mess of papers and stared at his master’s back. “Lord Jaime...Supper is served, awaiting for our lord to sit and take his fill. We also received a special shipment, directly from the capital. It’s from Lord Tyrion.” Jaime grunted his reply and moved away from the window. She wasn’t coming in a ship to visit Casterly Rock. It was only wishful thinking on his part, for there was no reason for the heir of Tarth to sail all the way to the Westerlands, when the next council of Regents was due and would be held in Winterfell.

Fucking North, again. 

At least winter had come and gone, now that spring graced them with greenery and new life. Only the North remained cold and dreary as always. Jaime wasn’t looking forward to seeing the Lady of Winterfell, much less, her brother and listen to his cryptic messages. He had ghosts there as well...of horrible past deeds that had never really left him. The dilapidated tower. The bedchamber he shared with his knight. The grounds he stood as he voiced his last words to her...tearing apart whatever had flourished between them.

“Peck, have my traveling gear prepared. We are traveling in a sennight to Winterfell. I’ll be taking my supper in my rooms. You’re dismissed.”

* * *

Jaime felt every bone in his body creak with each movement of his mare. He was surely not getting any younger and these long riding trips were killing his hips and back. They would have to stop at an inn promptly. “Boy! Go ride ahead and secure us rooms in the inn. We’ll stay the night and continue in the morrow.” The squire nodded, “Yes, Lord Lannister.” Having his title said back to him, made him grimace. It made him think his father from the afterlife would be smiling pleased that he finally accepted his fate, as his rightful heir. Only one thing he had yet to fulfill, choosing his Lady of Casterly Rock. 

After so much death, not many of the remaining houses had prospects that could rapidly accept and join him in marriage under the Seven. Tyrion had suggested the Lord of Casterly Rock invite every marriageable lady to a great feast and find himself a warm body to lie with and probably get one or two babes to hold the Lannister name for both of them. Jaime hadn’t forgotten his answer then, “Fuck off...You know there’s no one else for me.” His brother had gulped his drink and refilled it, twice. “Our sister is dead, Jaime. Your children perished, all casualties of her ambition and lies. Do you really want to grieve until your dying day whenever that might be? What about—” Jaime slammed his hands against the table, rocking the decanter and causing it to spill. “Don’t you dare speak her name in my presence. Mock what we shared. I won’t dare ask anything of her, for I dishonored her...with my actions and I can’t expect to ever be forgiven, even if she does…” Jaime walked away without finishing his thoughts, a craven at heart. False bravery had been his thing it seemed, for when it truly mattered the maimed lion cowered in the shadows.

Lying on his comfortable bed, Jaime tried not to think that she would probably attend this council meeting in her father’s stead. The Evenstar’s health has deteriorated due to age and having his only daughter back in Tarth had been a blessing. It was only natural that she too would have to choose a husband...share her bed with this man and give him children. 

His mind was torturing with images of golden haired girls with the most beautiful, blue eyes running through Casterly Rock’s halls, giggling and play fighting with wooden swords. His girls birthed from his lady knight, the Lady lioness, dressed in trousers drilling the Lannister soldiers, as one small boy tugs at her pant leg demanding her attention. A boy so similar to him in looks, eyes green and her hair much too long and curling at the ends. “Mama! Please, can I fight too! Father is trying to make read and I do not want to! I want to be like you, Mama! Strong and tall! So then everyone be scared of me—” She would give him a wide smile, with her eyes crinkling at the corners, showing the signs of age, “C’mere, my Galladon. What has your father told you? You must learn you letters, even if it takes all day. You have time to learn. You can be anything you want...A knight or a lord, a scholar or a soldier, a husband or father. You will choose in due time, my son. Now off you go back to your father. You must not keep him waiting long!” 

Jaime woke with a start and felt the tears down his cheeks, wetting his nightclothes. He tried to hold it, but the sobs escaped his mouth. The pain so intense, it felt like his chest might break apart, as his heart pounded and his blood raced through his veins. It felt so real, like he could actually touch their hair, smell their particular scents and stare at their wondering eyes. He didn’t miss the fact that he dreamt of three children...different from the ones he had sired on his twin.

A distinct knock at his door made him stop his sniveling and disturbing wailing. It had to be Peck or one of his other accompaniments. He opened the door without asking who it was and came to face with no other than Ser Brienne of Tarth. The gods surely had a sense of humor and had decided he should face his demons head on, no more hiding like a cowardly lion under his rock.

“Ser...Jaime. I didn’t know it was your room. Forgive me, I hadn’t meant to disturb you. I believed there was someone in need of assistance—” Involuntarily, her words and her demeanor brought a smile to his face, “You are really here...Ser Brienne. I expect on your way to Winterfell, as do I. Is your father accompanied you as well? I do not want him to misconstrue our meeting like this…” She blushed, reddening everywhere his eyes could see, making him wish he could kiss every inch of skin and make her moan in pleasure. He knew how to please her, learned her tells and her breathy sighs. It was now his turn to feel the awkwardness of the unexpected encounter and feel the heat of his thought having an untoward reaction.

“No...my f-father is b-bedridden. He s-sent me to represent Tarth, in consort with the Stormlands, we must show that we are a united region and that we are working to uphold the council’s accords. Lord Gendry Baratheon is our liege and thankfully things have been going well. No recent attacks from pirates or the Greyjoys going back on their word to respect our island. To be truthful I feel leery...after so much war I can’t seem to accept peace can be possible among the houses of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jaime answered with a chuckle, “My Lady it might be the fact my father and my sister are gone. And that the Dragon Queen is no more, while the roses wilted as well. No major house can quarrel over a nonexistent thorne anymore. As long as there’s grain and wine, the kingdoms will hold their peace and rule independently. I have to give credit to King Jon and Tyrion for coming up with this viable solution. No more central, distant power trying to control everyone. It might end up giving us all the just rulers Westeros deserves.” 

Silence permeated around them for a few seconds, Jaime stared at the ground thinking over his words, searching for his misstep. He wasn’t left long to agonize overthinking it. “Lord Jaime Lannister, Regent of Westerland, it appears you’ve got the right sentiment to reign over your people...if only your father would see you now.” At this he couldn’t hold off his laugh, “He’d keel over and die with disgust at my sentimentally towards the lowborn. Lord Tywin Lannister was all about strategy and what he could get out marrying off his children to another house, like pawns in his games of cyvasse. I wasn’t never any good at the game of thrones, just following orders and not even that... _ Kingslayer _ .” Brienne grinned, but turned her eyes from his, evading his penetrating stare, as the pink colored her cheeks in aprehension. He could die at this very moment, having seen her ocean blue eyes and swollen lips at her constant biting. It made him want his dream vision to come true...her belly full of his child, him by her side, until the end of his days. 

His past anguish began to beat inside his chest, reminding him of what could never be. Ser Brienne of Tarth deserved a full life, without the blemish of him, the man who left her many moons ago after taking her maidenhead and her love for granted. No, he would not ask for forgiveness or the opportunity to explain his reasons...she knew him better than anyone. 

Duty is after all the end of love. Damn Tyrion and his sage words. 

“I will take my leave, Ser Jaime...I mean—please excuse my intrusion. I have to make sure that the horses are ready for tomorrow’s ride. I can’t wait to be back in Winterfell...Lady Sansa wrote saying she had great news, but preferred to convey it in person. Lord Brandon Stark is engaged to Meera Howland. I would hope to see Lady Arya...for the sake of Gendry—” Jaime sat by the table, with the only candlelight lit in the room. “Please, Brienne take a sit. I won’t be going back to sleep. Let’s share this light and speak of better times...I see you have more news about the North and the Starks. I’d say Lady Catelyn should be pleased with his sworn guard. Against all obstacles, you’re the first lady knighted, saved the Stark daughters and outlived the horde of the dead that swarmed over Winterfell with clear intent to wipe us all out. The Lord of the Stormlands would be a fool not to marry the most astonishing woman in Westeros. May Lady Stark forgive me, or any other lady considered above you, Ser Brienne, but there is no one like you.”

Her hands were white with the force of her hold, white knuckles straining against the skin. She held her breath and watery eyes showed how much his words affected her. Words are wind. Only words, but his actions revealed his true heart. Brienne gasped, and tried to hold her sob. His eyes focused on her hands, giving her a slight privacy, as she regained control of her emerging emotions. Too many were brewing, between rage and her never-ending love for this man.

“Words, just words. That’s all you can ever give me. Before I leave you to your rest and solitude, I must make it clear that Lord Gendry only has eyes for one she-wolf with gray eyes and loves to water dance. I’m afraid I’m destined to die...a  _ maid _ . My poor father will die knowing his line dies with him—” Her rebuke died on her lips, as the man she loved knelt before her and took her trembling hands with his own, his stump caressing her. Brienne noticed there was no gold hand or replacement in sight. Somehow this detail felt significant to her.

“I don’t deserve to breathe the same air as you, my Lady. The gods are cruel...and yet I have to be grateful for gifting me this moment...I betrayed you, Brienne. You gave yourself to me, without expectations. I denied you my whole soul...for the foolish notions of a broken man. I’m still broken, hiding behind responsibilities and boredom. I have nothing to offer…You are whole and alive, deserving of a young, virile man, capable of giving sons to fill the halls of Tarth for centuries to come. But I do confess that this lion of the Rock yearns for your sapphire eyes, to soothe my aching heart that lives for you. I beg you let me accompany you on the remainder of this journey. And if by our arrival to Winterfell I have made my case...I will ask that you allow me to marry you in the Godswood, in the presence of the gods of old and new, to be blessed with knowing that the rest of my days I may gaze upon you, Brienne. If you never want to see my face again, I might ask the Lady of Winterfell to exact northern justice upon me. For I have nothing else to live for...I never wanted a crown. I will always be a knight.”

Brienne bowed her head and touched her forehead to his, no longer holding her tears. “You will always be my knight, Ser Jaime. The only man who ever saw me as an equal, who granted me his respect and gave me the greatest honor. On the morrow we will continue our travels...I won’t promise more than that to you. I do ask that you desist from your impulsiveness in seeking your death. I might have to fight the  _ Stranger _ for your soul.” His lips found hers, brushed over them tenderly, “Yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have to thank everyone who sent me a prompt. Each one has given a chance to give my imagination an outlet and possible universes for these idiots in love. I may want to ask for more prompts, but I need to return to "Chaos is a ladder" and give the proper end to that evil bitch who ended up as king. Thanks for reading, giving kudos and commenting!


End file.
